God in the silence

We are chatting merrily, tales of children doing funny things, of cats and African violets in pots, of a sponge cake gone wrong and spaghetti bolognaise gone right. These are good friends, grown close after the flow of time wears its grooves into us, smoothing us out, giving us a kind of contentment that can never be bought. And then, as the sun shines through the window and warms our shoulders, a gentle silence falls amongst us. A teacup settles against a saucer and a chair stops squeaking and finds its rest. Silence. Warm, gentle, golden silence.

These moments of stillness are rare, I think because we come to them with some trepidation. There is a fear, an anxiety, that keeps us constantly in motion, constantly needing to fill empty space. What are we so scared of? Why is it so hard for us to enter the hallowed sanctuary of silence?

On Sunday we will read a story about mad action, ferocious noise and…silence. It is the story of Elijah, standing on the mountain of God. A violent wind. A shaking, rocking earthquake. A roaring, all-consuming fire. And after that…the sound of sheer silence.

The story challenges our expectations that God is likely to show up in the great, noisy, cinematic moments. God does not. In this story, God seems to show up in the silence.

How does silence make you feel? And what happens when you still your mind, your body, your mouth…and simply be in silence?

Words by Rev Andreana

Image by Marg Edwards